After fixing my brother-in-law with a freezing stare, his addressee turned as from an offensive odour and invested the one word she thought fit to employ with an essence of loathing which was terrible to hear.
"Disgusting!"
Berry shook his head.
"The right word," he said, "was 'monstrous.'"
He turned to accost a quiet-looking girl wearing an oil-silk gaberdine and very clearly born upon the opposite side of the Channel.
With a sigh, I addressed myself to a widow with a small boy clad in a pélérine. To my embarrassment she proved to be deaf, but when I had stumblingly repeated my absurd interrogation, she denied the impeachment with a charming smile. During our exchange of courtesies the child stood staring at me with a finger deep in his mouth. At their conclusion he withdrew this and pointed it directly at my chin.
"Pourquoi s'est-il coupé, maman?" he demanded in a piercing treble.
The question was appropriate, but unanswerable.
His mother lugged him incontinently away.
Berry was confronting one of the largest ladies I have ever seen. As he began to speak, she interrupted him.